Taco didn’t like leaving questions unanswered.

  She liked leaving bodies unanswered—problems solved so completely they couldn’t come back with friends.

  But the desert fight had left her with something worse than questions.

  A choice.

  Garth, Chad, and Tarderes looked like people who carried the weight of the world and kept moving anyway. She’d watched them break the Soul Staff—watched Heroko walk away stronger in a different way—and felt that tug in her gut again.

  This is bigger than your town. Bigger than your hunting list.

  So she’d left them.

  Not because she didn’t care.

  Because she needed to see what “good” looked like up close—and whether it had rules she could live with.

  She headed for the regional headquarters in her area, the one she’d heard in rumors: a government-backed program that worked with “good” Asterbound to keep criminal Bound from turning cities into slaughterhouses.

  She expected gates. Layers. Order.

  What she found was smoke.

  The perimeter wall was cracked and blackened. Floodlights stuttered, half the compound bright and half swallowed. Sirens screamed in short, dying bursts like the system was choking.

  And at the front—where the checkpoint should’ve been a clean line of armed humans and controlled entry—

  there was a mess of bodies and fire.

  Taco sprinted.

  A handful of soldiers remained, clustered behind a ruined barrier, firing into the courtyard. Their shots were desperate, not coordinated. One screamed as he went down, blood spraying across concrete.

  Four attackers cut through the defenders like it was sport.

  One hurled a shard of compressed air that flung two soldiers into a wall hard enough to break bones.

  Another walked forward laughing, palms glowing with sickly heat.

  Taco didn’t hesitate.

  She drew while running and released in one smooth motion.

  The arrow punched into the heat-user’s throat.

  His laughter turned into a wet gurgle as he toppled.

  The other three snapped toward her.

  Taco slid behind a toppled barricade, scooped a fallen magazine off the ground, and flung it—not to hit, just to steal their eyes.

  They looked.

  She rose and fired.

  Arrow through the eye.

  The third lunged, fast and cocky, hand outstretched like he planned to crush her skull with invisible force.

  Taco yanked her serving dish free and snapped it up like a shield.

  His force hit it.

  The dish buckled but held for a heartbeat—long enough.

  Taco stepped into him and drove the rim into his jaw with a brutal clang. Teeth flew. He staggered.

  She finished him with an arrow at point-blank range.

  The last attacker—taller, leaner—backed off, suddenly less amused.

  He raised his hands, building something crackling and sharp.

  Taco drew, aimed, released.

  He tried to sidestep.

  The arrow hit his shoulder and pinned him to a concrete pillar.

  He screamed, twisting, trying to tear free.

  Taco closed the distance and slammed the serving dish into his temple.

  Once.

  Twice.

  He went limp.

  Silence rushed in, broken only by ragged breathing.

  One soldier stared at her like he couldn’t decide whether to salute or run. Another sat down hard, shaking.

  “Clear the courtyard!” someone shouted from deeper in the compound. “Where the hell is—”

  A man in a battered officer’s coat strode into view, flanked by two exhausted soldiers. He looked like he’d been awake for three days—blood on his sleeve, soot on his face, eyes sharp anyway.

  He took in the dead attackers, then Taco.

  “Good shooting,” he said, voice rough. “You with them?”

  Taco’s jaw tightened. “With who?”

  He exhaled like he didn’t have time for games. “Fredrick. I run this regional HQ.”

  Taco glanced around the wreckage. “You ran it.”

  Fredrick’s mouth twitched humorlessly. “Yeah. Today’s been a bad day.”

  He motioned for her to follow, leading her through the smoking entry corridor into a hall washed in emergency red. Medics moved between wounded soldiers. Technicians tried to coax life back into battered systems.

  “We’re a government program,” Fredrick said as they walked. “We partner with cooperative Asterbound to counter criminal Bound. We keep civilians alive.”

  Taco eyed him. “That’s the pitch?”

  “That’s the truth,” Fredrick said. “We don’t get to pretend the Bound don’t exist. We either work with the ones who choose restraint… or we get erased by the ones who don’t.”

  He stopped at a secured door and punched a code into a panel held together with fresh tape.

  “Armory access,” he said. “If you choose to join, you get equipment. Training. Rules.”

  Taco’s eyebrows lifted. “Rules.”

  Fredrick faced her fully. “Obligations.”

  “Like what?”

  He counted on his fingers. “You don’t kill civilians. You don’t use your power or weapons for profit. You respond when called. You don’t go rogue. You follow command structure when lives are on the line.”

  Taco’s eyes narrowed. “And if command tells me to stand down while criminals slaughter people?”

  Fredrick held her gaze. “Then you tell me. And if my call is wrong, I adjust.” His voice hardened. “But if you break the program, you don’t just become a vigilante. You become what we’re built to stop.”

  Taco’s grip tightened on her bow. She thought of her town. Of the neko prisoner’s eyes. Of how long “waiting for permission” usually took.

  But she’d also seen what it looked like when the Bound had no leash at all.

  She hated rules.

  She hated chaos more.

  Fredrick opened the armory door.

  Rows of weapons and armor filled the room—standard issue beside modified gear built for Asterbound use. Plating. Reinforced gauntlets. Specialized bows. Blades. Strange devices Taco couldn’t name.

  Fredrick gestured. “Choose, if you’re choosing.”

  Taco walked the racks slowly.

  Guns. She ignored them.

  Swords. Too common.

  Then she saw it: a bow designed with integrated blades—curved metal edges along the limbs for close quarters, a reinforced grip built to take impact like a club.

  A weapon that didn’t ask her to become someone else.

  A bow that could become a blade.

  Taco lifted it, tested the weight.

  It felt right.

  Fredrick watched her, reading the decision in the way she held it. “So?”

  Taco exhaled, then nodded once. “Fine.”

  Fredrick’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Welcome aboard.”

  Taco looked at him sharply. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  Fredrick’s mouth twitched. “Same.”

  At HQ—Marten’s HQ—normal was a fragile thing.

  Sometimes “normal” meant alarms.

  Sometimes it meant quiet hallways and the illusion that walls could keep the world out.

  Tonight it meant a table in the common area and two bowls of food that weren’t burnt.

  Mino sat across from Zach, stirring soup she’d already cooled. Zach ate like someone who’d learned to refuel without asking for pleasure.

  Mino watched him a moment, then asked the question that had been stuck behind her teeth for days.

  “How did you become Asterbound?”

  Zach paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. For a second his eyes went far away.

  Then he set the spoon down carefully.

  “You sure you want that story?” he asked.

  Mino swallowed. “Yeah.”

  Zach leaned back, hands clasped loosely. His voice went quieter, less joking. “I wasn’t born like this. Not like some of them.”

  Mino’s ears twitched, listening.

  “I was younger,” Zach said. “Walking home. Poor neighborhood. You learn to keep your head down. You learn which streets belong to who.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Mino didn’t interrupt.

  “There was a thief,” Zach continued. “He wanted my bag. My lunch. Whatever. I tried to run. He shoved me hard.”

  Zach’s fingers tightened once, then relaxed.

  “I hit the ground,” he said. “And I saw this little stone. Just sitting there in the dirt. Like it didn’t belong.”

  Mino’s stomach tightened. “Like an asteroid fragment?”

  “Smaller,” Zach said. “But yeah. Same wrongness.” He looked at Mino’s hands. “It pulsed when I reached for it.”

  The ember inside her shifted, attentive.

  Zach’s voice tightened. “My brother came running. He saw the thief over me and—he didn’t hesitate.”

  Mino’s throat went tight.

  “He defended me,” Zach said. “He shoved the thief back. He fought like… like brothers do when they think being brave fixes things.”

  Zach swallowed, jaw flexing. “The thief had a blade.”

  Mino couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  Zach stared down at the table. “My brother died right there. In the street. Because he wanted to protect me.”

  Mino’s eyes stung. “Zach…”

  Zach exhaled through his nose, like careful air would keep his chest from splitting. “I picked up the stone while his blood was still warm. And the power came fast.”

  He looked up, eyes hard and bright. “My brain still tries to make it my fault. Like if I hadn’t been there—if I hadn’t reached for it—”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Mino said, voice cracking.

  Zach’s mouth twitched without humor. “Tell my brain that.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “That’s why I get… protective. I don’t want anyone I care about getting hurt because they were near me.”

  Mino thought of the mind-talker smiling and saying she’d seen things.

  “Is that why you don’t want me to fight?” Mino whispered.

  Zach’s eyes softened. “I want you to live.”

  Before Mino could answer, the building jolted.

  Not a siren.

  A thump that came from the walls themselves.

  The lights flickered. Mino’s soup rippled.

  Zach’s head snapped up.

  Then a second impact—closer—followed by the sound of reinforced doors straining.

  Zach stood so fast his chair scraped. “Stay behind me.”

  Mino rose too, heart hammering. “What is it?”

  Zach’s face hardened. “An assault.”

  The hallway alarms finally screamed.

  Marten’s voice came over the intercom, sharp and controlled. “All units. Intruders in the lower access corridor. Asterbound confirmed. Lockdown procedures in effect.”

  Mino’s breath hitched. Bound. Here.

  Zach grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the defensive junction. “Remember what we practiced,” he said. “Name your emotions. Don’t let them name you.”

  Mino nodded, terrified.

  They reached the corridor mouth just as five figures surged into view—fast, coordinated. Not raiders.

  A team.

  Four hit Zach immediately, spreading in a practiced arc. One stayed back, sliding toward a maintenance access panel instead of joining the fight.

  And Mino felt it before she saw her clearly:

  Pressure against the inside of her skull.

  The mind-talker.

  The same woman from Zach’s corridor fight.

  She smiled at Mino like they were old friends.

  “Hello again,” she purred.

  Zach’s voice cut like a blade. “Mino—DON’T LOOK AT HER—”

  Too late.

  The mind-talker’s gaze locked and the world tightened.

  Whispers slid into Mino’s thoughts, oily and invasive:

  He’ll die because of you. You’ll explode again. Everyone here will burn.

  Mino’s hands flared with light.

  The ember surged, thrilled—yes, yes, yes—ready to turn fear into fire.

  Zach fought like a storm.

  One attacker threw blades of air; Zach twisted, caught a wrist, and redirected the strike into the wall, cracking concrete. Another tried to pin him with gravity; Zach rolled and slapped a dampener charm into their chest. A heavy weapon swung—Zach caught it on his forearm guard and snapped an elbow into a throat.

  He was winning.

  But they weren’t there to beat him.

  They were there to keep him busy.

  The mind-talker crouched at the access panel, fingers moving like she was typing into a lock only she could see.

  “Zach’s mind was such a lovely map,” she whispered.

  Mino’s stomach dropped.

  She’d stolen access information from him.

  Zach saw it too and snarled, “NO—”

  But an attacker hooked him from behind, locking his arms for a heartbeat—just a heartbeat.

  The mind-talker finished her sequence.

  The panel hummed.

  Something inside clicked.

  Mino’s panic spiked.

  And the mind-talker turned fully toward her, smile widening. “Let’s see how big you can go, little star.”

  The pressure inside Mino’s skull increased. Her vision blurred.

  Her power surged—fast, swelling, the familiar terrifying climb toward detonation.

  “I—I can’t—” Mino gasped.

  Yes you can, the mind-talker whispered inside her. Blow it all up. It’s what you are.

  Mino’s skin began to glow at the seams.

  Zach ripped free with a violent twist and slammed an attacker into the wall, then looked at Mino—eyes wide, fear raw.

  “Mino!” he shouted. “BREATHE!”

  Mino tried.

  The power screamed.

  Anger rose—hot and clean. How dare she use Zach’s pain. How dare she try to turn me into a bomb.

  The ember surged, hungry for it.

  Light gathered between Mino’s palms—

  and for one awful second she felt the edge of losing herself.

  Then Zach’s earlier words hit her, steady and absolute:

  Control gives you choice.

  Mino clenched her teeth until her jaw ached.

  She forced her breath in and named what she felt.

  Scared.

  Furious.

  Determined.

  The swelling energy didn’t vanish.

  But it changed shape.

  Instead of exploding outward—

  Mino compressed it. Condensed it. Pulled it forward like shaping a river into a blade.

  Her hands trembled. Her vision sharpened.

  She released it—not as a shockwave—

  but as a beam.

  A bright, focused line that cut through the corridor and struck the mind-talker square in the chest.

  There was no time for her to laugh.

  No time to smile.

  The beam burned through her like sunlight through fog. Her body collapsed in on itself—edges dissolving—then she was simply gone.

  Silence snapped into place where the pressure had been.

  Mino staggered, breathing hard, hands smoking faintly with residual light.

  The access panel behind where the mind-talker had been flickered and died.

  Zach turned back to the remaining four attackers.

  His expression wasn’t kind.

  He ended it fast.

  A dampener charm slapped to one throat. A joint lock that snapped an arm and dropped another. A brutal strike to the solar plexus that stole breath. The last tried to run—Zach caught them with a thrown charm that flared and collapsed their power into useless static.

  The corridor fell quiet.

  Marten’s intercom crackled. “Intruders neutralized. Medical teams—move.”

  Mino stood shaking, staring at the empty spot where the mind-talker had been.

  Zach crossed the distance and grabbed her—hugging her hard, sudden, like he had to confirm she was real.

  “I am so glad you’re okay,” he said, voice rough.

  Mino clung to him for a second, chest heaving.

  Then Zach pulled back.

  His eyes blazed—not at the enemy, but at her.

  “What were you thinking?” he snapped.

  Mino flinched. “I— I stopped her—”

  “You could’ve died,” Zach said, sharp. “You could’ve—” His voice broke on the edge of something. He clenched his jaw, breathing hard. “You were supposed to leave it to me.”

  “But you were—busy,” Mino said, voice rising. “She was going to get in.”

  Zach’s face tightened like he couldn’t decide whether to shout or shake. “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand!” Mino cried. “I understand what happens when I don’t act fast enough!”

  Something raw flashed in Zach’s eyes.

  Then he turned and walked away down the corridor, shoulders stiff, like if he stayed one second longer he’d say something he couldn’t take back.

  Mino stood there shaking, tears spilling.

  Marten approached—calm in the aftermath, coat too clean in a way that felt unreal.

  “Mino,” he said gently.

  Mino wiped her face with her sleeve. “Why was Zach so mean?”

  Marten’s expression softened. “He’s not mean. He’s scared.”

  Mino sniffed, furious and hurt. “He’s scared of me?”

  Marten shook his head. “He’s scared for you. He lost someone once because they tried to protect him. He carries that like a wound that won’t close.”

  Mino’s throat tightened.

  “So he’s… not really mad?”

  Marten’s mouth twitched faintly. “He’s mad. But not at the part of you that fought. He’s mad at the risk. Mad at the world for putting you in that position.”

  Mino stared at the floor. “I… I had to.”

  Marten nodded. “And you did it with control. That matters.”

  Mino’s voice went smaller. “Marten… what is the soul transfer?”

  Marten’s eyes sharpened a fraction. “Who told you that phrase?”

  “Nobody,” Mino said. “I just… feel it. Like the fire spirit isn’t gone. Like power can move.”

  Marten held her gaze a long moment, measuring.

  Then he said slowly, “There are theories. Procedures. Illegal experiments. Some people believe you can move a spirit’s essence—or a fragment of a person’s vavic imprint—from one vessel to another.”

  Mino’s stomach turned. “So it’s real.”

  “It might be,” Marten said. “And anyone chasing it isn’t doing it for kindness.”

  Footsteps came fast.

  Zach.

  He stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling like he’d run a mile. His face was tight, but his eyes had softened.

  “Mino,” he said.

  Mino looked up, tears still on her cheeks.

  Zach exhaled and spoke like every word cost him something.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have stormed off.”

  “You were mad,” Mino whispered.

  “I was scared,” Zach corrected. “And I took it out on you. That’s not fair.”

  He stepped closer—not touching her, just meeting her gaze. “You did well. That beam—what you did—that was control. That was… impressive.”

  Mino’s breath hitched.

  Zach’s voice tightened. “But be careful. Please. Don’t let someone like that into your head again if you can help it. And don’t ride anger like it’s a weapon. Anger is a wildfire. You directed it today. That’s rare.”

  Mino swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

  Zach’s shoulders loosened a fraction. “Good.”

  Marten watched them a moment, then turned away, already moving back into the machinery of command.

  HQ had survived the assault.

  But the fact that it had happened at all meant one thing:

  Someone out there knew them well enough to strike.

  And they were getting bolder.

  ar from HQ, under a sky with no sirens to warn anyone, Garth found Heroko again.

  Or maybe Heroko had found him.

  It happened on a barren shelf of rock where the wind screamed through cracks like trapped voices. Garth felt the pressure change—the air going wrong—and turned just in time to see Heroko step out of shadow with the broken pole segment of the Soul Staff in his hand.

  Heroko smiled faintly. “You took my head.”

  Garth’s grip tightened on what he carried now: the staff-head piece, sealed in a reinforced housing and wrapped in layered wards—protections stacked like armor. After the desert he’d stopped pretending he could keep anything safe by force of will alone.

  “You don’t get it back,” Garth said.

  Heroko’s gaze slid to the housing. “That’s not what I’m taking.”

  He moved.

  The pole segment swept like a conductor’s baton and the world answered. The air thickened. Pressure slammed into Garth’s defenses, not blunt, but searching—testing for hairline fractures, for the one weak seam a patient hand could pry open.

  Heroko reached—not for Garth’s throat, not for his heart, but for the staff head piece, trying to peel it apart the way he peeled people apart.

  The wards flared. Thin bands of light snapped into place and held. The housing shuddered but didn’t split.

  Heroko’s smile widened, genuinely pleased. “You learned.”

  Garth lunged anyway.

  They collided in a blur—steel and vavic force, teleport feints and counter-feints. Garth drove in close, hunting one clean hit that would matter. Heroko turned each attempt into a lesson, redirecting, punishing, making Garth pay for every inch.

  Even without the full Soul Staff, he was terrifying.

  And now, unbound, his power didn’t travel in clean channels.

  It burst. It twisted. It lashed.

  A strike caught Garth in the ribs. White flashed behind his eyes. Another hit his shoulder and the joint screamed, half-tearing. He teleported once, twice, barely ahead of a kill-cut that would’ve opened him from collar to hip.

  Heroko’s voice stayed calm inside the chaos. “You can’t win this.”

  Garth spat blood onto stone. “I don’t have to win. I have to live.”

  Heroko’s eyes narrowed, amused. “Running again?”

  “Strategic retreat,” Garth rasped.

  Heroko lifted the pole segment as if to end it—

  and something stopped him. Not mercy. Not kindness.

  A thread. A memory. A fraction of the man who used to laugh at campfires and split rations with strangers.

  It was only a heartbeat.

  But Garth used it like oxygen.

  He teleported.

  The world snapped. Pain tore through him as he forced the jump. He landed miles away and dropped to one knee, gasping, clutching the protected staff head close to his chest like it was the only thing keeping the dark from closing.

  He’d lost the fight.

  But he hadn’t lost the artifact.

  Not yet.

  And that meant this wasn’t over.

  It meant it was escalating.

  Because if Heroko couldn’t break the protections…

  he’d find another way to get what he wanted.

  And after the assault on HQ, Garth didn’t think he was the only one being hunted.